


Manifest

by theimpossiblegeekygrrl



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Dark, Erotica, Masturbation, May/December Relationship, Multi, Naivite, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimpossiblegeekygrrl/pseuds/theimpossiblegeekygrrl
Summary: A college-aged Clarice becomes drawn to a man she can't ignore, even if she never sees him for who he is. Erotica, with a plot in there somewhere.Hannibal series continuity. I no longer use their fandom tag for personal reasons.
Relationships: Clarice Starling/Original Female Character(s), Hannibal Lecter/Clarice Starling, Will Graham/Clarice Starling, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Clarice Starling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Desire

* * *

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.  
\- Anais Nin - 

* * *

I was still in college the first time I laid eyes on him. 

Despite the veneer of cool authority, along with a suited exoskeleton adorned with a too fashionable tie, I knew something different had entered the room when the professor introduced his guest speaker. Most people I ignore, not worth lifting my eyes to in greeting. This creature I stared at, licking my lips as he paced in front of the blackboards. He was beautiful in appearance, but it was the matter underneath that suit that I craved. Those things that weren't on display. 

Too controlled, too on point: everything about him was too carefully crafted to be real, down to the pencil straight part in his hair. I wanted to tousle the strands, run my fingers over his shirt and wrinkle it. I wanted to touch the crisp creases in his trousers, pressing them down until they were gone. I wanted to unzip him, removing the pretense and pretension, and watch him crumble.

His lecture was on social exclusion, a subject he was writing a paper on. Even in my rapture of him, I held on to every word, though his cultured voice made me wet. I wanted him to look at me, even though I was in the back row, in the corner that I normally preferred. I took notes with one hand, meticulously organizing them in my normal way, while my other hand slipped under my skirt. It wasn't my normal behavior, and when it was over, I'd question everything I'd ever done that led up to that moment. 

I was so profoundly aroused that it felt like the most natural thing to do. Orgasm was not my goal; my fingers skittering over my panties before slipping inside, just wanting to feel the slick, smooth skin. 

He finally looked at me then, pausing after taking a deep breath. His hands gripped the podium, eyes searching the hall until he found me. Then his brow raised slightly, and he winked at me before returning to his lecture.

I wanted him to speak forever, and I think I would have been happy to spend every day of my life covertly touching myself while taking notes. When it ended, the applause strong and deserved, my hands came together with it, though I was disappointed in the leaving. I was usually the first out of the room, darting to the library to start an assignment, but I lingered behind until everyone was gone. Someone had turned off the overhead lights, and the room was almost dark. I escaped into memory with both hands under my skirt, a moan escaping from my lips.

"You are very distracting." 

The voice was low and to the left. I thought it was my imagination at first, overactive and wild. But when he spoke again, his lips almost touching my ear, I realized that he was really there, watching me. 

"I could smell you while you were touching yourself. Is this the first time you've been so discourteous to a guest lecturer?"

I sat up and cleared my throat, not as much embarrassed as I was caught off guard. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"I think you do," he said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting here in the dark, trying to get yourself off."

I stared at the desk in front of me, unable to look at him. He kneeled next to me, fingering through my notes. 

"Remarkable that you can multitask so well. I'm surprised you managed to pay attention at all, considering how wet you are."

My stomach dropped. "Are you going to tell on me?" 

"Don't worry. I gave you an A-minus," he whispered. "Half of your classmates fell asleep."

I started to breathe again, just before his hand touched mine. He brought it to his mouth, the inhalation of breath tickling my skin before his tongue swiped the tip of my index finger. I groaned when he did it again; until then, I didn't know that my throat could make such deep, husky sounds. 

"You didn't finish," he said softly.

"I didn't want to."

"Why? You don't know how to be quiet? I'm sure you have to be with a roommate in the next bed."

"I don't live in the dorms. But I can be quiet," I said. 

"Then why not come?" The way he spoke made me question my decision until my breasts swayed against my arm. I wanted to touch them, too, needed to run my hands over my belly and thighs. My skin was sensitive, drawn too tight. I needed to feel everything.

"I like a full-body experience," I said, my voice heavy with unspent desire. I finally turned to him, examining the details of his face. He had a tiny scar on his upper lip, and the creases around his eyes were deeper than they'd been in the bright lights. I was twenty-two then and had never been attracted to anyone over the age of thirty. But, I was drawn in by him, by the control he was exerting over himself, even as he spoke to me about masturbation. 

"Would you mind giving me a demonstration? I'd like to know more about your full-body experiences."

"Here?"

He shook his head and laughed, providing the name and address to a hotel that I was familiar with but had never been able to afford. "Do you have a car?"

I thought of the ancient Ford in the parking lot, wondering if he would sneer at it. His suit probably cost more than what I'd paid for it. "I do."

"Meet me there at seven. I have a few things to discuss with your absent professor before I leave."

"Okay," I whispered.

"What was that again? I'm afraid I didn't hear you."

"Yes," I said louder. "I'll meet you there."

When he smiled, the skin over my spine crawled, just a little. 

* * *

Even though it was the largest in the hotel, the room was smaller than I expected and almost quaint. He'd removed his jacket and tie, his top buttons undone, revealing a smattering of the dark hair on his chest. I'd removed nothing and had left my jacket on, even though the day was warm. 

"What do you drink?" he asked.

"Scotch, if you have it."

He nodded and poured the glass, watching me as I tilted my head back and drank it all in one swallow. 

"Aren't you a little young to like whisky?"

I shrugged, sniffing as the buzz touched my nose. "I like what I like."

"I prefer wine," he said, pouring himself a glass from a dark bottle, smelling the liquid before taking a sip. "You should try it sometime."

I felt bold when I took the glass from his hand, imitating his actions as I took a sip. It was dry, and I could almost taste the fields where the grapes had been grown. His flavor was there too, just underneath the surface. "I still like Scotch."

"Do you want another?"

I nodded, and he refilled my glass. I drank it just as quickly, looking at the bed, large and covered in a geometric print. 

"Do you…" I paused and looked at him, then back to the bed.

"Do I want you to start?" He shrugged. "If you're ready."

I was. It had been difficult not to go back to my apartment and hop into my own bed, exploring my body without his eyes on me. However, I'd wanted this more. No one had ever asked to watch me masturbate, and my previous experience with sex had been sticky, quick fumblings that left me unfulfilled. The truth was I was curious about what it would be like to touch myself in front of this sensual man, be fulfilled in the presence of someone who seemed attuned to desire.

I gave him my empty glass, a little shy as I removed my shirt and laid in on the back of the chair. My skirt joined it, and I stepped out of my flats before lying on the bed. He pulled up a chair, choosing to be a distant observer as he sipped on his wine.

"Aren't you still a little overdressed?" he asked.

"I like to take my time," I said.

I kept my eyes on his face as I touched my neck, circling it with my fingers. My pulse was over one hundred, nervousness and excitement speeding it past my norm, even though the alcohol had relaxed my mind. My hands traveled to my lace-covered breasts, barely skimming over the fabric before moving to my belly. I let them drift slowly, down to the tops of my legs, a ghost of a touch in that sensitive area where thigh meets groin. 

His expression never changed, though his eyes danced in the low light, amusement and possibly frustration making them glitter. I closed my eyes, imagining the way he'd stood at the podium, the power he'd exuded as he spoke, the raw words he'd spoken to me after. Later, I'd learn that I like raw people who don't disguise what they are. I vacillated between those sides of him as I fantasized about the lecture hall, undoing the clasp of my bra and touching my breasts with both hands. My nipples were hard and stiff, sore from rubbing against fabric. I embraced the pain, moaning as I pinched them between my fingers, just enough to make the pain completely delicious. 

My breath was loud in the quiet room, and I opened my eyes enough to see his face. The corners of his lips were turned up, almost a smile. I pinched my nipples again, wanting to know if I could break loose whatever he was holding in, but he held firm, even if he crossed his legs with contained leisure. It was enough; I was already warming back up and decided I could take my time, not rushing to the finish.

My breasts were one of the more sensitive parts of my body, and my hands lingered there, feeling their weight, my nails scratching over the areola. I bit my lip, wondering if I could make myself come just from playing with them. I'd come close before, one night when I still had a roommate. 

"You're thinking about something other than what's in this room," he said.

"Yes."

"Tell me what's on your mind." His voice was patient, as soothing as warm water.

"My roommate."

"I thought you lived alone."

"I do now."

"What happened?"

"She and I got drunk," I said, still massaging my breasts. "She knew how sensitive my breasts are – it was a joke between us not to get too close to them. She started to touch them after a bottle of wine and asked me to take my shirt off. When she saw them, she unhooked my bra and started playing with them."

"Did you fuck each other?" he asked, his voice still calm. 

"No. We just played with them together, trying to see if I could come from nipple stimulation alone."

"Did you come for your roommate, like a curious co-ed?"

I laughed, my fingers barely touching my skin as I lost myself in memory. "I wanted to. She started kissing them, even sucked on my nipples, just to see what would happen. I was on the brink and asked if I could kiss her, but she made a face and left the room, told me she wasn't a lesbian. She moved out a week later."

"Are you gay?"

"I don't know. Maybe," I admitted. "I liked the way it felt with her. It wasn't like it was with the boys. It was like I was really there until I fucked it up."

"I'm sorry it ended so suddenly."

"I was too."

His eyes fell to my breasts, and I looked down, seeing how red my nipples were. Normally pale, tinged with a hint of pink, they had the appearance of being aflame. I touched them again, rolling them between my fingers, feeling my groin tighten in response. I could come from this if I wanted to, and I wanted to in front of him. My attention returned to the now, to the harsh breath that accompanied the painful pleasure. I tightened my muscles, slowing rocking my pelvis. It didn't take much, in the end. It wasn't as strong as it could be with my fingers and a dildo, but the orgasm was pleasingly long, my cries gentle and low, even if it wasn't enough to satisfy. I was aching, my clitoris pulsing like a tiny cock, and I needed more.

"There's some lube in my purse. The side pocket."

He stood, and I finally noticed a small crack in his veneer take the shape of an erection pressing against his fly. I smiled to myself, biting my lip as he bent over, showing off his shapely ass.

"You came prepared," he said, passing it to me.

"I stopped by the pharmacy on the way over." I slid out of my panties and opened the bottle, coating my fingers with the thick fluid. 

My clitoris was too sensitive, and I didn't want to come again so soon. I teased the skin above and around it, grazing in light circles. He watched me intently, his eyes on my hand as it moved, as fascinated as Narcissus was with his own reflection. There was a mirror across from us, and I caught a glimpse of myself: legs splayed, vulva swollen and dark, fingers unhurried. Somehow, I felt beautiful as he watched me, as I watched us both. It was wrong, almost deviant, though in the best possible way. 

I inched a finger inside, working myself with both hands. My pores opened, and I started to sweat, my warmth pooling into the sheets. 

"Aren't you ready?" he asked. 

"I like the torment," I breathed. 

Time slipped away from me as I worked myself to the edge, only to bring myself back down again. If he was impatient, he didn't show it, though I lost sight of his free hand a few times, a gentle sigh following those moments. I thought about what he would be like as a lover, perhaps as attentive as he was now. The idea pleased me, and I grunted as I added another finger, filling myself to the verge of pain.

"So tight," he murmured. "You haven't been with many people, have you?"

"No."

"Have you ever had a real lover? Someone who cares for you and takes care of you?"

"What's that?" I laughed, hissing in a breath when my fingers curled against my g-spot. I was too close now, but I was ready for it. I took my clitoris in my fingers, rubbing it hard. The convulsions were almost immediate, my body shaking as I soundlessly gasped. Cool air touched my back as I arched away from the bed, my joints cracking with the tension that was still building. I made it last, finding a new wave to ride when I saw his face, the intent curiosity that changed into excitement.

" _Fuck_." 

The word fell artlessly from my mouth. I was spent, almost exhausted, but the sweetness of the afterglow kept me awake. I stroked my labia, enjoying the heat that radiated from them, and moved my other hand back to my breasts and belly, mimicking the caresses I'd want from a lover after good sex. It was good by myself, better than good, but with him watching... 

It was incredible.

I rolled my head to the side, still touching my damp skin as I watched his fingers trace the fabric around his zipper. "Do you need some help taking care of that? You can fuck me if you want to."

He seemed to consider it for a moment, but he eventually shook his head. "I fuck over the people I fuck."

"Then we don't have to fuck," I said. "I don't mind giving head if you like that better."

He stood and placed his empty glass on the nightstand, then sat next to me on the bed. My hair was stuck to my forehead, and he brushed it away before kissing the center. "Why don't you take a bath? There's a soaking tub. I brought something to eat from home if you're hungry."

I nodded and tried to stand, but I was boneless and wobbly on my feet. He grabbed my waist, guiding me to the en suite, and started the water himself. I sat on the edge, letting my feet dangle as he worked around me, pouring something into the water that made it smell softly fragrant. He was about to leave when paused, moving the hair from my neck before placing another kiss at the nape. I turned to look at him, but he was already shutting the door behind him. Sliding into the water, I felt a little drugged when I lowered my head beneath the surface. 

* * *

I wore a hotel robe, white terry cloth with their crest embroidered on the back, as I sat at the table next to the small kitchen. He offered me another Scotch, but I asked for wine this time. It seemed to please him when I took the glass, rolling it around as I'd often seen done before taking a sip.

Dinner was better than anything I'd ever eaten. He shied away from listing the ingredients when I asked, though he told me we were dining on beef bourguignon. It didn't taste like beef, but I kept that thought inside as I devoured every bite, drinking two glasses of wine with him.

I was sated and happy, and when I looked at the clock, I groaned with disappointment.

"I need to go home. I'll call an Uber."

"Stay here," he said. 

"Did you decide to let me take care of you?" I teased, my hand resting on his thigh.

"No," he said, gently taking my wrist and moving my fingers away. "We can share my bed without sex. I'd feel like a poor host if some driver took advantage of you in your delightful, intoxicated state."

"Oh," I said. "I didn't think about that."

"I'm aware." 

We cleared the dishes together, taking them to a small sink. I insisted on washing them, and he dried them before putting them away. 

"Are you ready for bed?"

"Yes."

He untied my robe, removing it from me before walking me to the bed. He'd had the sheets changed while I was in the bath, and they felt deliciously cool against my skin. I watched him take off his clothes, dirty thoughts settling to mind when he removed his underwear. He turned, still semi-hard and twitching when he slipped into bed next to me, his hand on the lamp as he wished me goodnight. 

In the dark, he made no move to touch himself or me. 

* * *

The morning sun was bright, and I was hungover. I flung an arm over my eyes, needing coffee and a plate of grease.

"Good morning."

I moved my arm and peeked at him from between my lashes. He was already dressed, back in his suit of armor. 

"Hi," I said, gingerly sitting up. I forgot that I was nude and tried to cover myself with the sheet, but he tugged it away, chuckling when he handed me a cup of strong coffee.

"I'd like to enjoy the view if you'd indulge me."

I blushed and nodded, taking a sip and breathing in the aroma, hopeful that it would clear my head.

"I have to give a lecture this morning, so I need to leave you. Lock the door behind you when you go, but you may stay as long as you'd like. They can bring up breakfast if you're hungry."

"Thank you. I have class at ten, so I'll have to leave soon."

He touched my leg through the sheet and blanket, tracing the curve of my calf with his finger. "Would you come back later? Let me watch you again and allow me to feed you?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I'll come back."

"Good," he said.

"What…" I cleared my throat, delaying my words while I found the courage to speak them. "What do you want from this?"

He quirked his lips. "I like watching you touch yourself. Would you do that for me, from time to time? Perhaps come to my home in Maryland, on the occasions when we are both free?"

"That's all?"

"That's all," he said, mocking my accent.

I ignored the slight. "Do I have to make my mind up now?"

"No," he said. "Think about it and give me an answer tonight if you wish."

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome." He picked up his bag and left.

I tapped my finger on the coffee cup, sipping it until it was gone. Before I could think better of it, I rolled onto his side of the bed, smelling the expensive aftershave that lingered there. 

"You might be in trouble," I whispered before I got up. 

The walk of shame wasn't one I relished, so I gathered up my things and drove to my apartment before class. It was an old studio, advertised as three-hundred square feet though it was probably closer to generous two-fifty. I took off yesterday's clothes, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I brushed out my hair. I looked like I'd been thoroughly fucked, with a glow I'd seen on other people and never on myself. It was an attractive look, one I'd learn to get used to whenever he wanted me near him. I put on fresh clothes, old jeans and an ancient white t-shirt that came in a six-pack, and ran back out the door.

Instead of paying attention in class, I thought about him. The look in his eyes when he watched me frig myself. The way his lips felt on my forehead and neck. It was addictive, worse than the caffeine I drank throughout the day. 

In the end, he'd decided for me. When I knocked on his hotel door, he opened it immediately, as though he'd been waiting for me to come back.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes, what?" He shut the door behind us and gave me a glass of Scotch, this time on the rocks with a twist. 

"I'll be your…" I frowned. "Paramour?"

"It doesn't need a name, my dear," he said. "But I'm glad you said yes."

I grinned and knocked the glass back in two swallows. "So, do you want me to start now, or…"


	2. Plateau

I visited him frequently in the large mansion on Bayshore Avenue, enough to have my own drawer at the bottom of his dresser. All it contained was a toothbrush, lube, and extra panties, but it was made me think I mattered to him. 

Each meeting was ritual: he'd open the door and take my things to his room upstairs, asking me to wait for him in the library across from the dining room. On his return, he would pour us both a drink, and we'd speak about nothing of importance, things as inane as the unpredictable weather until I couldn't hold back. Sometimes I'd touch myself there in the chair across from his, lifting my skirt to my waist as he watched me come in the low light of the fire next to us.

I was happy, as odd as it might sound. I learned to stop asking him if he wanted to join me, as much as I desired to see him fall apart as I could. The simple act of his fingers at his zip, absently stroking his erection was enough, and I focused on those moments when I pushed myself over the edge. In front of him, I learned that I liked to scream, just a little when the first waves started to roll through my womb. At his suggestion, I touched my ass, figuring out how to finger myself there while my other fingers rubbed against my g-spot and clitoris. I could play my body so well with his passive participation that I wondered if I even needed another person in my life.

It wasn't until I went to a bar with a few friends from class, just having a few drinks after the end of the semester, that I felt differently about things. She was close by, drinking her Scotch the name way I preferred: cheap and neat. Her hair was the color of hay, her eyes the deepest, chocolate brown, and the way her blouse was unbuttoned, showing off the curves of her small, round breasts, made me damp and warm. I excused myself from my friends, the pair giving me knowing glances when I sat next to her.

"Can I get you another?" I asked.

"Sure," she said. 

She was an art major and had come to the bar with friends of her own, even though she felt she didn't belong in such a loud place. I didn't think she did either and offered her a drink at my quiet apartment.

"I'd like that," she said shyly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her neck was graceful, like that of an elegant swan. I wanted to kiss it and told her as much.

She closed her eyes and arched her neck, her breaths making her breasts shake in a way I liked. I kissed her there, a lot like the way he kissed me whenever the mood struck him, letting my lips linger over her rapid pulse. 

"You're beautiful," I murmured.

"So are you," she breathlessly whispered back.

I took her hand and led her away, picking up her bag with mine. I didn't live far, just a five-minute walk to the six-flight walk up. It was enough to find out her name and where she was from, and that she'd never been with a woman. When I told her I hadn't either, her eyes softened.

"It's just me, then."

"Maybe," I admitted. 

"I want to kiss you on your mouth," she said nervously. "And other places."

I opened the door to my apartment and let us in. There was only the bed to sit on, but that was all we needed. I kissed her mouth, tasting Scotch, and the sweet honey from the tea she drank in the afternoons at her studio. She took her blouse off herself, showing me that she was bare underneath. Her curves fit my hands perfectly, and I could suck them whole into my mouth. The sweet gasps that came from her throat were heaven, growing louder when I unbuttoned her jeans. I slipped them from her hips, leaving on her panties, loving how wet they were at the center. 

She was shy when I removed my old shirt, her hands trembling when she touched the front clasp of my bra. I helped her, moving the straps from my shoulders when her fingers finally freed me. 

"Oh… wow," she breathed. I shook when her fingers traced my areola, arching when she rubbed my nipples between her fingers. "They're so soft."

"That's nice," I said, biting my lip as my hips started to roll. 

"How do we do this?" she asked. "I've watched a little…" She blushed and looked down at my bedspread, her fingers playing with a loose thread.

"You've watched porn?"

She nodded. "I've read dirty stories in books, but I've just been with men."

"We'll figure it out together. It can't be too hard."

I ended up kissing her everywhere, my tongue lapping up the sweet and salty tang that flowed from her. I covered my dildo with a condom and fucked her with it, drawing out the low cries from her throat until she shook and begged me to stop, but only because she wanted me to come, too.

I did what I felt was right and straddled her, rubbing my labia against hers, grinding against the slick heat until I fell on top of her, shaking from a surprisingly good orgasm. Her mouth found me after, and she sucked my clitoris between her lips until I forgot everything, including my name. She stayed with me that night and the next, eventually needing two drawers of her own.

It was a new home. And it was completely perfect while it lasted.

* * *

He called me a few weeks later, his voice laconic and almost bored when he asked, "Come up this weekend."

She was next to me, her hand cupping my vagina even in sleep.

"I can't. I've met someone."

"Is it serious?"

"She's all but moved in. Pretty serious."

"A she," he said. "Do you love her?"

"I could love her," I whispered. "She's pretty great."

"But not yet?"

"No."

"Then come anyways. Tell her you are working on your thesis. You always can; it was a mess the last time you brought it."

"I won't lie to her."

"But it's the truth. You're meeting with a trusted advisor if that eases her worried mind."

"I…" I stared down at her and brushed her hair back. She responded to me in sleep, cuddling closer and dipping her fingers inside. It must have been a good dream, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning into the phone. It happened anyway, and he breathed in as though he could smell my arousal through the phone.

"Will you come?"

"I will," I said. "And I'll come this weekend, too."

"Good," he chuckled. 

* * *

She believed me, just as he knew she would, and I arrived at his doorstep, dolled up in her best dress. She's wanted me to look nice since I was meeting with an advisor. The lie should have hurt me, somewhere inside, but it didn't, since it was mostly true. The dress was snug across my chest, but he'd like that.

"Good evening," he said, holding out a hand to escort me inside. He took my bags and strode up the stairs, and I watched his ass as he moved, enjoying the view.

I walked to the library myself and poured a drink, throwing it back and quickly pouring another when I heard him in the hall.

"I usually do that for you," he said.

"I know. I did it for myself today."

"So, you did." He poured himself a glass of wine and sat, motioning for me to join him. "What is she like? Tell me everything there is to know about your lady love."

I took my seat and made a show of crossing my legs. I hadn't worn underwear, and I was proud of my boldness and of the slick skin I'd had waxed last week.

"She's amazing. Still an undergrad, just twenty."

"Just twenty to your ancient twenty-four."

I giggled. "Still, she's… she's like the spring. Young like I never was: bright and vibrant. She makes me want to be like that."

"Like what?" He leaned forward as he might with a patient, intently listening to every word.

"Innocent."

He raised a brow and took a sip of wine. "What's her major?"

"Visual arts. She paints the most abstract things – darker than you'd imagine from someone as sweet as she is."

"It could be you that lacks the imagination, my dear."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "You see her as you want to see her, without chasing the hidden depths."

"That's possible," I mused. "She's extremely talented; she wants to come to the Institute here for grad school if she gets accepted."

"I have friends on the board. I could make a few calls."

"Don't," I said. "She needs to do this herself."

"Does she? Is she an ambitious little rube like you were? Would she ask to suck a little cock, do you think, just to work her way to the top?"

I took a breath and looked away, fighting back the tears that threatened to come. "Why the cruelty?"

"Not cruel. Merely stating a fact." He finished his wine and asked for my glass, taking them to the kitchen. I stayed in my chair, a little drunk and perturbed at his words. He'd never been anything but kind and generous with me, and it felt like a betrayal of trust. I didn't look at him when he returned.

"I'm not your girlfriend."

"I don't have girlfriends."

"I'm not anything to you, other than a girl you like to watch while she plays with herself."

"I'm not jealous."

"Then what is it? What's changed?"

"I've met someone, too," he said softly.

"Good for you," I said. "Maybe we shouldn't—"

"We should," he said quickly. "It's not serious. Not love, like it could be with your girl. He's more of a passing whimsy, on my part."

"Oh. _He_. Does he…" I cleared my throat. "Does he come for you like I do? Or are you dating?"

"I don't date," he said.

"Do you fuck him?"

"Not yet. But I will."

"Confident," I said.

"I always am," he said, licking his lips when his eyes wandered to the straining buttons on my bodice. "Let's go upstairs."

I nodded and stood, taking his hand as we walked to his bedroom.

"What do you want to see?" I asked.

"Touch yourself, the same way she touches you."

I nodded and took off my dress. I hadn't worn a bra either, having removed it along with my panties on the drive into town. Something clicked in my mind when my eyes strayed to his hips, like a lightbulb sparking to life. "I'll need a prop."

"Of what kind? I fear that I'm fresh out of sex toys."

I rolled my eyes. "I'll let you know when it's time."

"Then, by all means, begin."

A chair was already next to the bed, and he sat in it, crossing his legs as he watched me. A bottle of lubricant was already on the nightstand, the brand he said he liked and liked for me to use. I imagined she was there with us, her eyes trusting as she moved between my thighs, her touch feather-light on my still sensitive skin.

"You've had a haircut," he observed.

"I did."

"Does she like you like way? Completely smooth and bare?"

"I like it that way. I can feel everything," I said. "She's still a little timid, even though I've taken her ass with a strap-on," I said the last words with a little pride and watched for his response.

His eyes darkened, his lips deepening to a lovely shade of red. "Do you like that? Fucking her like a man?"

I considered the question and shrugged. "Not like a man. Like a woman. But… I like it all. Why hold back if you don't have to?"

"Full-body experience, open-minded fucking," he mused. _"If only."_

"I wouldn't fuck you even if you asked nicely," I lied. "Not anymore."

"Then fuck yourself," he said. "Keep up those sweet little touches. Such a shy one, to be with such a deviant."

I sighed and continued, closing my eyes as I cupped myself as she would, edging a finger just in inch inside, the way I liked it when I was with her. I was sensitive around the edges, more sensitive than I was further in, and it took a few gentle swipes at my clitoris, as soft and gentle as her tongue, before I was arching against the sheets, the pillow flattening with the force of my shudders.

"She must be magnificent," he said.

"The best," I sighed, rubbing my damp fingers over my breasts.

"Are you going to go again?"

I nodded and looked at him. "But I'll need that prop now. I want to show you more how we fuck each other when the mood strikes right."

"What do you need?"

I stood and took his hand, guiding him to the bed. "Take off your trousers but leave your underwear on. You're my prop."

"I'm not fucking you," he said, even though he did what I asked, even taking off his shirt.

I shrugged. "I didn't ask you to. But you still want to know more about the full-body experience, don't you? That's why you keep asking me back."

"Yes."

"Then lie back and enjoy the show, just as you always have."

He nodded wordlessly and laid in the center of the bed, his erection almost comical and swathed with thin cotton. I spread his legs, lifting one and placing it over my shoulder as I straddled him, my bare skin touching the bulge between his thighs. I moaned, imagining it was her there instead of him, and I whispered her name, trying to feel the silky hair on her legs instead of the coarser hair that covered his. I kissed his knee, kissing her knee, my tongue tasting salty, musky skin as I started to rock against him.

"Do you like that, baby?" I whispered. He was completely stiff, though his hips flexed with mine, grinding against me as hard as I was against him. "Your pussy feels so good. Did I make you wet while you worked me up?"

"Yes," he whispered, gulping air as I rode him hard. I was so wet that the smooth fabric didn't matter; soon enough it was soaked with lube and my own contributions, slick enough to let my imagination run wild.

"I like it when you come first; when I know I've pleased you. Come for me now and show me what a good little girl you are. You're so good when you want to be, aren't you?"

His hand reached out for my breast, but I shrugged it off. "Don't fucking touch me."

He sighed and let his hand fall to his chest. He started to quake, the erection between my thighs twitching as he added his own contribution to the mess of fluids. I came again soon after, rubbing my clit until I ejaculated too, an act that made him moan pitifully. I gasped for air, humming as I came down from the high.

"Where…" he chuckled and swallowed. "When did you learn how to do that?"

"She taught me," I said, grinning when I laid next to him. He turned to me, his hand reaching for my face, but I moved away, sitting on the edge of the bed with my back to him.

"I need a bath," I said over my shoulder.

"And I could use a shower."

"Do you want to go first?"

"No." The cruelty was gone from his voice. He was gentle again, almost sated (if he could ever be), and I felt like I had my friend back. "You first. You've earned it."

"Were you going to kiss me before?"

"Yes."

"Do you still want to?"

" _Yes_."

I turned around, and he sat up, caressing my neck and head as his lips hungrily took mine, a broad tongue slipping into my mouth. He was in charge of this, in charge of me again, and I let him control my tongue before breaking away.

"You're a good kisser," I murmured.

"So are you."

"It's a shame that you'd fuck me over if you fucked me. I wouldn't do the same to you."

"You would. Eventually."

"I doubt it."

"Oh, but you would, my dear. You're learning far too well about how to be cruel."

I frowned at him and moved away, walking to the bathroom. "I could never be cruel."

* * *

I came twice again before morning, though I was myself again, touching my body in the way I always used to before I became a we. He kissed me again before I left, his lips lingering over mine as we stood at the door.

"I'll call you," he whispered.

"I know," I said, looking back at him as I walked down the pavement. I'd never really seen a genuine smile from him, but he smiled at me then, and it warmed my body until it glowed. I bit my lip as I turned back to the road, my old Ford looming ahead.

When I got home, I fucked her with our strap-on, enjoying how she screamed my name. We broke up a few weeks later when she found his number in my phone along with the messages we sent to each other late at night when we were bored. I learned to be more careful after that, keeping an extra phone that was for him alone. No one else was ever the wiser of my occasional trysts in Baltimore.


	3. Orgasm

I started my doctoral program, interning in a small clinic, and finally feeling like I was making something out of my life. School brought me closer to him, though I hadn’t intended it to, and he was only a forty-five-minute drive from my front door when the traffic wasn’t terrible. My new apartment boasted two-hundred square feet and felt more spacious than the last due to careful design. 

We both had other lovers, though no one was ever serious or lasting, lovers of both sexes who enjoyed sex as much as we did. Our only constants were each other, and he still called me every few weeks, asking me to come for him. I always did, skiving off everything else in favor of lying in the middle of his bed, writhing as I touched myself under his watchful gaze. The encounter where I’d ridden him was repeated occasionally, usually when the tension between us grew too great. It always set things to rights, ending whatever cruelty we were showing each other.

He was right, just as he always was. 

I was learning to be cruel in my own novel way. I could see it in myself when I kept someone at arm’s length, insisting that I only wanted a fuck buddy on the weekends, no matter how hard that person might try to make something more out of what we didn’t have. I didn’t have the best reputation, though that never really mattered to me. I just wanted to feel good, however I could. But the best was still on those nights that he sat beside me, drinking wine and asking me questions about my life. I was twenty-six, and I knew that my life would change as soon as I had the right initials next to my name.

Those initials would never come.

* * *

“I’m having a dinner party next week. I’d like to see you at my table.”

“Are you serious?” I was painting my toenails, and I cursed when I dropped the open bottle on my new rug.

_“Shit.”_

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. I’ll clean it up later.”

“Will you come?”

“Do you want me to stay the night?”

“Obviously.”

“So, I’d be meeting your friends and… I don’t know. This feels weird.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know if I can hide my reaction to you in front of other people,” I admitted. I was squirming now, already needing to get off. “It might be dangerous.”

“It will just be you and me and another guest. A party of three, something small and private.”

“And who is this guest?”

“A friend.”

“What kind of friend? One you are fucking, or one you are fucking over?”

“Both,” he said, his voice both playful and severe. “He’s an empathetic man, in tune with those things that no one else notices. He’ll know what’s going on between us the second you enter the room, so there won’t be a need to hide anything. He’d be discreet if I asked him to be.”

“Okay,” I said.

“So you’ll come?”

“I’ll come.”

“What about now?”

I looked at my wet toenails and the growing puddle on the floor. 

_Fuck it._

It didn’t matter. I leaned back and sighed, letting my fingers wander inside my sweatpants. “Just for the record, this doesn’t mean we’re dating,” I said.

“I wasn’t asking,” he chuckled.

* * *

I shopped for a decent dress, feeling lost in the high-end department store as I browsed around. When I found a clerk, she was attentive and steered me to a moss-colored, strapless dress that she promised would bring out the highlights in my hair. I bought it, cringing at the price as I brought out my emergency credit card. We found shoes to go with it and silk underwear that was even nicer than the dress. I bought it all, slipping her my number after I took my bags. 

She called me later that night, and we met at her apartment. She came twice before midnight and three more times before I left the next morning. Her lips tasted musky when I kissed her goodbye, and when she called me again, I deleted the message.

* * *

He was in a suit when he answered the door, his tie carefully knotted and still too fashionable for my taste. I told him as much, and his laughter echoed down the hall as he walked beside me.

“You look stunning,” he said.

“Thank you. You clean up pretty nice, too. I almost forgot what you looked like with a jacket on,” I said, blushing when he placed a hand on my ass, stroking me through the dress as we walked into the kitchen. His guest was already there, and he introduced us. I raised a brow when I heard the name; he’d been in the news, accused of a series of copy-cat murders, though he’d later been exonerated of everything. 

I sat in a chair next to the counter, watching the men speak to each other. His guest was so different than he was, yet somehow more like him than I could ever be: controlled, even if his emotions splayed across his face when he wasn’t careful, and somehow cruel, his words pointed and biting when he wasn’t paying attention to his tone. He was a mass of contradictions, and when I sat at the table across from him, I couldn’t figure out exactly what made him tick. I wondered if that was what the attraction was between them, two enigmatic minds that couldn’t be quantified.

“How did you meet?” I asked.

“He’s my patient.” 

“That’s not entirely true.”

“Isn’t it?” he said, grinning at him before returning his attention to serving our plates.

I stared at them both, suddenly nervous. If this was a doctor-patient relationship, it was a dangerous one and as unethical as anything could be. I bit my lip and frowned, and when I looked across the table, I was met with intense blue eyes.

“How did you meet?” he asked.

“I was a guest lecturer at her university, years ago,” he said, adding proudly, “I also helped supervise her master’s thesis.”

“Was that wise?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you’ve…” He motioned between us. “You two have had a relationship, at some point.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. We decided that we’d never have sex unless it was time to end things.” He passed me a plate, and I looked at it, tilting my head at the protein.

“What are we eating?” I asked.

“Pork,” he said.

“Long pig, actually,” his guest added, though with some discomfort.

“Hmmm,” I said, taking a bite. It was delicious, and this time, it indeed tasted like pork.

“You can have a relationship without sex.” I looked up and caught the blue eyes again. He was staring at me, into me, in a way that made me uncomfortable.

“And you can have sex without a relationship,” I added, raising my glass. “Here’s to open-minded fucking, and full-bodied experiences.” 

“So that’s who you are.”

“And who am I?”

“You’re the one who…” He was suddenly shy and stammered over his words. “You… _ah_ … you… you… touch yourself while he watches.”

“And so what if I do?”

“It’s still an inappropriate relationship.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said and shrugged.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous that he doesn’t have someone like you in his life, who he can fully enjoy without the consequences of fucking. They’re pretty devastating, aren’t they?”

_“That’s enough.”_

I was bewildered, and I wiped my mouth, no longer hungry. “I think I better go,” I said and stood, leaving the room. I hunted the downstairs rooms for my purse, huffing when I couldn’t find it. 

“Wait.” 

It was his guest. He was sprinting down the hall, catching me as I was about to walk out the front door, deciding to take the risk of hitchhiking home.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“He and I are… things are difficult right now.”

“I could tell,” I said, folding my arms over my chest. 

“I was with someone briefly. She got pregnant and lost the baby after a car crash. He enjoys toying with me about it when it suits him.”

I nodded and looked at the light above us, willing the tears from my eyes. “That’s terrible.”

“You’ve known him longer than I have; you know what he’s like.”

“I’m not sure I do,” I said. “I’ve never seen that side of him.”

He tilted his head, his eyes widening with disbelief. “You have no clue, do you?”

“About what?”

“Nothing,” he said, running his hands over his scruffy cheeks. “It’s not for me to tell you, especially not here.”

“Then don’t. Goodnight,” I said, opening the heavy door.

“You’d be remiss to leave without this, my dear.” He’d crept up the hall, too silent, holding my purse in his hands. I tried to grab it, but he held it out of my reach. “You said you’d stay the night.”

“I did.”

“Stay.” But it was the guest who spoke the words, his eyes now pleading. “I… I want to watch.”

I could feel my ears turn red with anger, and I did cry then, the first time I’d ever done so in his presence. “If I stay, this is the last time. You can’t loan me out to your friends; I’m not a party trick.”

“It’s not a loan. Consider it a new experience. Both of us, watching you. He isn’t as immune to your charms as I am – he might even fuck you when it’s over.”

“Not on your life.”

 _“Please.”_

The words were so gently spoken, needy, and raw. It reminded me of her, of the first her who I took home from a bar and made love with. I turned to the man who spoke, looking into him as he had done to me at the table, seeing so many troubles, and so much pain. The steel I’d surrounded myself with cracked, and I let him in, just a little.

“This is the last time,” I said, meeting eyes that glinted red in the light.

“Then let’s make it count.”

I took in a loud breath and walked to the stairs, my legs shaking as I climbed them. I willed myself outside of my body, watching myself turn to his bedroom. I took off the dress, hanging it in the closet to keep it from wrinkling, and stepped out of my heels, leaving them by the door. I was naked when I laid down on the bed, and I noticed only one chair next to it. If he’d been planning this, he didn’t do a good job of it. But when his friend sat in the chair, while he sat on the bed with me, his elegant fingers grazing my leg, I realized the intent.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

He nodded. “Only if you want to.”

“I’ve always wanted to,” I whispered, touching my breasts. “I wanted you from the start.”

“I’ll hurt you in the end.”

“Then hurt me. I’m ready to feel the pain.” My hands were already between my legs, and my breath stuttered as desire flowed through me. I touched myself like she used to, coming fast, my pants filling the room. “I want you inside me when I come again.”

He stripped off his clothes, his mouth on my breasts, sucking on them the way I’d told him I liked. I turned my head, sighing when his friend smiled at me. His presence made me weak with desire, even more than the man’s whose hands were inching down my waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“He made me that way,” I murmured, gasping when I felt his lips between my thighs. He knew everything I liked, had kept everything I ever told him in an expansive file in that amazing mind of his. He wasn’t inside me when I came again; he tormented me until I was as boneless as I’d been that first night before he rose over me, wrapping my legs around his waist. The tip of his cock was just inside me, and I clenched around him, trying to draw him in. He moaned as he slid further, though I might have been louder. He bit my ear and neck in just the right places that he’d found over the years. 

“ _Both_ … of you.” I was frantic and could barely make sentences.

“Do you want him to fuck you too?”

“Yes.”

There was a rustle of clothing, then I was rolled to my side, a slick cock sliding between my cheeks. I met him, pushing down against him until I was filled with them both. When they started to move, the orgasm was immediate, powerful enough to make me ejaculate, something that pleased them both.

“She comes like a man.”

“That’s a sexist thing to say.”

“Shut up, both of you,” I moaned, catching both of their mouths as I started to come again, if the previous orgasm had ever ended. I was only aware of sensation, of my body pulsing around them both. I was a mess when it was over, and this last time he didn’t take me to the bath. He stayed with me, my legs wrapped around his and my head against his chest. His friend rested his head on my side, kissing the corner of my shoulder before I lost sight of the present and fell asleep.

* * *

“It’s come to our attention that you had an inappropriate relationship with one of your thesis supervisors.”

“What?” I was in my current advisor’s office, dressed in the second-hand suit I wore to the clinic. “It’s not true.”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter, and neither university wants a scandal. Your Master’s will still hold, but you need to drop from our program effective today.”

“I’ll sue,” I said, lifting my chin.

“Then you’d have to prove it didn’t happen. Can you?” His eyes were kind though stern, and I shook my head helplessly.

“Of course, I can’t.”

“Sometimes, it’s best to walk away with your pride.”

“But this is all I’ve ever wanted,” I said, staring at the paper he placed in front of me.

“You have a counseling license. You can still do a lot; take care of patients at the level you’re used to. And you can reapply to a different program in a year after everything settles down.”

Tears stung my eyes as I signed the paper, though it ripped with the force of my pen. I felt my stomach roll, and I grabbed the trash can, losing my lunch and most of my breakfast before I could lift my head again. 

“So much for pride,” I mumbled, taking the tissue he offered and wiping my mouth.

“Take care of yourself. You still have access to the clinic on campus through the end of the week if you need to talk to someone.” His voice was kinder than I wanted it to be. “Off the record, I don’t believe the allegations, and I’m sorry this happened.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” I said. 

I excused myself, the door to the dean’s office opening as I stepped out. He was shaking the hand of a man who wore an exoskeleton in the form of a suit, and they both turned to look at me amid the soft laughter they shared. Before I could stop myself slapped the mouth of the smug, smirking man I’d fucked not three weeks ago and ran down the hall, this time making it to the ladies’ room before I threw up again.


	4. Denouement

I was nearing middle age the last time I laid eyes on him.

I walked down the long hall of the BSHCI, my heels clacking on the stone floor. We were in one of the basements, and there was only one cell on this level. The administrator, a woman I considered to be one of my closest friends, had hesitantly provided me permission for a visit, and I wore my best suit, though I had dozens of them now. I was a powerful woman despite his attempt to ruin me, and God help me if I didn’t want to show off that I had made it higher than he ever did while he was going to die in this pitiful place.

She stood next to me, whispering in my ear. “Are you ready for this? He’s worse than he ever was, and you need to hide anything you don’t want him to know well outside of his reach.”

“He knows everything there is to know about me, except for what’s happened in the last ten years. And I don’t care if he knows the rest. It’s what we think he deserves, after all the damage he’s caused.”

“Then give him hell,” she said and unlocked the door, letting me in before locking it behind me.

His back was to me. He was sketching at a table bolted to the floor, sitting in a chair that was bolted in the same fashion. I’d never known about his art, finding out about his expansive portfolio during the trials and seeing the pictures when I read the books written about his life and crimes. The rasp of the crayon was soft, and he paused when I inched closer to the glass, lifting his head as his chest moved with a deep breath.

“I can smell your cunt,” he said. “It’s the same scent that attracted me from across the lecture hall in your social psychology class so many years ago.” He turned then, giving me an appreciative glance. “How are you, old girl?”

“Not as old as you are,” I said. “I turned thirty-seven last year. And I have the luxury of being a free woman.”

He smirked and glanced at my hands, seeing the wedding bands on my ring finger. “You aren’t that free. I see shackles.”

“They aren’t shackles if you want them there,” I said. “You fucked me over pretty bad, just like you said you would. It wasn’t just losing my place in my doctoral program. It took me years to get you out of my head.”

“But you were so beautiful and hard, like a brittle figurine of a bird in flight,” he said, tutting as he walked up to the glass. Our reflections met, though I could see myself far better than I could see him. “So close to becoming my equal before you fell to the ground and shattered.”

“I didn't break. And I’m happier to be placed amongst the dullards.” 

I tapped my nail against my leg, fighting the sensation to squirm. Even with years of psychoanalysis, I still reacted to him like a salivating dog. The chair the orderly left out for me was an old folding chair, similar to the kind I had at my first apartment. I sat down, feeling the familiar padding on the backs of my thighs.

“Who put those rings on your finger?” he asked.

“A very good and understanding man who knows how to tolerate a lot of bullshit from me.”

“And how is your sex life?”

“Perfect,” I said. It was the truth, and I wasn’t ashamed to share it. “How’s yours?”

He grinned, making my skin crawl. “Nothing but a memory, but how sweet they are. Especially the ones of you.”

“Not as good as the real thing, even in a memory palace.”

“I suppose it’s not,” he agreed. “You’re dressed in a fine suit, and that blouse is silk. I smell gunpowder, I’m assuming on your hands. Did you become an FBI agent, like the man you begged to fuck your ass?”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I work for the CIA. They didn’t care that I didn’t finish my dissertation. When they found out I survived you, I was recruited on the spot.”

“And what do you do for them?”

“That’s classified.”

“It must be something that requires the use of a gun,” he challenged.

“That’s also classified. Let’s say that for the first time in my life, I know far more than you ever will about the way the world really works.”

“So you're a spy.”

“That’s classified,” I laughed. “You won’t get anything from me about work. They’ve trained me better than you ever did.” 

“What about the rest of your life?” he asked. “Did you keep your name, or did you take another shackle along with those rings?”

When I told him that I had taken my husband’s name and what it was, his eyebrow twitched briefly, just enough to let me know I hit a nerve.

“ _Ahhh_. He must have left his lovely first wife after we washed to shore.”

“She left him,” I said. “We met again six years ago.”

“Where?”

“We had the same therapist and saw each other in the waiting room. She didn’t think it was wise for him to start dating so soon after the fall, but he asked me anyway. We got married a few weeks later, and we’re happier than we ever remember being.”

“I’d imagine he’s unable to work. It must be difficult to be the breadwinner.”

“He works,” I said. “Raising a child is one of the hardest jobs you can have. I should know – I did it alone before he moved in.”

That got him in the gut. He gripped the desk briefly before relaxing his hands as though he’d never done it. “And how long were you a single mother?”

“Three years. My daughter is nine years old,” I said.

“And which of your lovers was the father? You were fucking several people a decade ago if I remember correctly.”

“Then you should remember that they were all women,” I said smoothly. “I hadn’t been with a man in months before I slept with you.”

His brow twitched again, and he swallowed hard. “Are you telling me that I’m a father?”

“I’m telling you that I have a daughter. She has a stepfather who loves her like his own and who she calls Daddy. And you have nothing.” I stood and flicked a piece of lint from my skirt, watching him as he stared at the wall behind me. His expression was carefully blank, though I could smell his salty alligator tears through the glass.

“What’s her name?”

I refused to answer and knocked on the door.

“You won’t tell me, will you?”

“No. I just wanted to see the expression on your face when you found out. She’s as brilliant as you are and without a drop of the crazy. Her Daddy sees to that.”

The administrator opened the door, and I stepped out, though I turned back when he called my name. 

“What do you want? This is the last time you’ll ever see me, so you better make it count.”

“Her name. _Please_ ,” he said. His expression was raw, and I almost relented until I felt the old steel he’d once given me fill my spine.

I shook my head, feeling as cruel as he’d ever been when I answered, “You’re lucky I told you that she exists. I’ll never tell you her name. And with the courts and your attorneys having folded on your pathetic requests for access to the outside world, you’ll never find it out. Let that be your hell as you languish down here with the rest of the living dead. Ta, old man.” I turned my back to him, and when the door closed, the tears finally bubbled up. She rushed me to the second door, shutting it tight as I started to sob.

“What did he say to you?” she asked, locking the door behind us.

“Nothing,” I sniffed, taking her handkerchief. “He was actually decent, or as much as he knows how to be, but he was thirsty.”

“Thirsty for your kindness and tears. Don’t forget that he’s a monster, no matter how civilized he ever pretended to be with you.”

“Oh, I know he is. I figured that out when he decided to share me with his honored guest after dinner.”

“But that guest fell in love with you. Real love, nothing he ever understood or could ever understand,” she said. “If he ever did anything right, it might have been introducing you to each other.”

“Maybe,” I whispered. “But maybe we would have met anyways. I won’t ever give him any credit, not after what he’s done to all of us.”

We walked up the stairs, back up to the place where life was. 

“He can’t get to you, not like he could have before. He has no access to a phone, and we monitor all incoming and outgoing mail. He’s a rat, trapped in his own maze. And I still have all the keys that keep it locked tight.”

“Good,” I said. 

“Would the three of you like to come over for dinner next week? It’s been a while.” Her own steel had melted over the years, and she was almost soft again, as she had been before she met him. Her smile was genuine, and I smiled with her. 

“That would be great,” I said. “I should be in town unless I’m not. You never know.”

“I’ll have the missus check with your mister about a date.”

“That sounds perfect.” I kissed her cheek and walked out of the front door. An older model Mercedes sat in the front row, my girl and her Daddy sitting in the front seats, reading thick books. She pushed her glasses up her nose and turned to look at me when I sat in the back, watching me as I took down my hair.

“Everything okay, Mom?”

“Yeah, baby. Just a hard part of the job.”

“How did it go?” The blue eyes in the rear-view mirror were as razor-sharp as his scars, and he pushed his glasses up his nose the same way she did. 

“He knows exactly what we wanted him to know, just as we rehearsed.”

He blew out a breath and relaxed. “Good.”

“We have a dinner invitation for next week. Her missus will be in touch.”

“Out at the big house?” my daughter asked.

“Yup. If we go early, I bet your auntie will take you for a ride on your favorite horse.”

She squealed and hopped in her seat. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”

“I don’t see why not,” I said, flicking my eyes back up to the mirror. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” he said, smiling at me in a way that still made my knees weak.

“Then let’s go.”

I leaned back against the seat, staring at the hospital as we drove away. I’d never return to it, none of us would, and he died in his cell a few years later, though more peacefully than any of his survivors would have wished. 

* * *

My daughter never asked who her biological father was, and she believed her stepfather hung the moon just high enough for her to reach. And so did I, even on the nights when I remembered how we met too vividly. My dreams held none of the violence that his did, and most of the time, I slept easily, waking only when he started to shake with a memory that came back to life in his nightmares. He found rest in me in those moments, tearfully thanking me for staying with him.

It’s when I was tired and listless, on the verge of boredom or needing to relieve stress, that I saw maroon eyes next to me, encouraging me to show him just how hard I could come. I came back to myself in those moments with a silent scream and turned to my husband, where he lay next to me in our bed and rested in the safety of his stable, scarred arms as he spoke kind, gentle words over me.

* * *

A few weeks ago, I visited his grave, out in the potter’s field where the hospital's unclaimed patients were buried. His grave was marked with a number instead of a name, the number given to me by my closest friend. She stood at the gate when I walked inside, feeling too anxious to follow me in. Her wife won’t come, even though she stood next to the grave when he was lowered into it, spitting on his coffin before the gravedigger returned the earth to where it came. 

My husband was more understanding, though he waited for us in the car while my daughter sat with him, reading a quantum theory textbook. 

I stood in front of his grave and removed a picture from my pocket, a picture of a red-haired girl and her red-haired mother, both with big blue eyes and wide, honest smiles. I laid it on the grass next to the marker, tears in my eyes when I said her name.

“No more cruelty,” I said. “But it took your death to set us completely free. I fell too close to the earth when I met you, and you held me down as long as you could. But I’ve learned how to fly again.”

I felt lighter when I walked away, lighter than I’d felt since I sat in my social psychology class, waiting for the guest lecturer to arrive. 

I took my friend’s hand and walked back to the car, looking back once as the picture fluttered away into the brisk December wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was an experiment in depersonalization. If you give a character's identity to everyone else because you can't use her name... why not try to tell a story where no one has a name and are only identifiable by those minute details that help create identity? Let me know if it worked.


End file.
